


celebrate you and i

by gardevoirite



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Canon, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 18:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11064720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardevoirite/pseuds/gardevoirite
Summary: “I mean.” he pouts and looks away from her. “I know I don’t say it enough. That you’re practically family to me. That I’d always have your back and I know you have mine. That I see you as a sister I wish I had.” And it finally dawns on her, what Yuri’s trying to say to her. “I figure you already know, you’ve known for ages, but I know that sometimes it’s better to hear it-”“I love you too, Yuri,” she says with a laugh, and he sputters.





	celebrate you and i

**Author's Note:**

> mila & yuri?? platonic soulmates?? its more likely than u think
> 
> also "milka" and "yurka" are diminutives that are more intimate than ones like "yura" just to clear things up mua
> 
> enjoy!! <333

Mila meets Yuri when she is six years old.

And honestly? At first, she wants nothing to do with him. He’s _three._ And he’s a _boy._ She doesn’t know when boys get cooties but she’s not taking any chances.

“Oh, Mila,” her mother sighs when she tells her about her distaste towards the little blonde boy in their living room. “He isn’t bothering you, is he?”

“No, but-”

“Then leave him be,” she says, patting her head gently. “He’ll only be here for a few hours while his grandpa goes out. If you don’t bother him, I’ll get you some ice cream, okay?”

And that is that, for all of ten minutes. Then she feels something tugging at her dress as she’s trying to get her favorite picture book from the shelf, and when she turns, the little kid is there.

“What do you want?” she says, not unkindly, but she _really_ doesn’t want to be the one to babysit this kid.

He stares at her with large, blue-green eyes (his eyes are pretty, she thinks. Kind of like mommy’s jewelry when it glints in the light) and then clumsily points at his chest, his other hand still on the hem of her dress. “Yu-ri.”

She tilts her head before poking him lightly on the nose. “You’re Yuri?”

Yuri nods his head enthusiastically before pointing at her chest. “Your name?” he asks, slurring slightly on his speech.

She puffs her chest out proudly. “Mila Babicheva!” she doesn’t slur on her words once, which obviously makes her leagues better than this kid already.

Yuri seems to contemplate this for a moment, before grinning and pointing at her again. “Baba!”

What? No. Baba means old lady and she is _not_ an old lady. “No, no. Ba- _bi._ Babicheva.”

“Baba!” Yuri repeats again, giggling. And she can feel irritation bubbling up, but also a strange bout of… fondness? He’s a cute kid, she has to admit.

“ _Babi._ Yuri, say _Babi.”_

“Baba!”

She spends the rest of the afternoon trying to teach him how to say her name correctly, and the more time they spend the more she realizes that Yuri _can_ say her name perfectly fine – he’s just doing it to rile her up.

She doesn’t even notice the time eating away until an old, burly man comes to their living room and Yuri suddenly stands up and runs to him, shouting, “Dedushka!”

“Thank you for taking care of Yuri for me, Albina,” the old man says to her mother as she picks Yuri up effortlessly.

“It’s no trouble,” her mother assures serenely. “You should thank little Mila. They were playing all afternoon.”

“Is that so?” Yuri’s grandpa chuckles, turning to her. “Well, thank you, Mila. I’m glad Yuri’s made a friend.”

She gapes at him, before pouting and stomping at the ground stubbornly. “He’s not my friend! He keeps calling me ‘baba’ instead of ‘Babicheva!”

He laughs just as Yuri blows her a raspberry. He turns to her mother again. “I see they’re getting along well.”

“No, we’re not!”

“Mila,” her mother reprimands, but her eyes are crinkling with laughter. “Well, it was a pleasure having Yuri by, either way. We’d be glad to take care of him again, if you want.”

“Thank you kindly for the offer, but we shouldn’t impose-”

“Yes!” Yuri suddenly lets out, looking up at his grandpa and tugging lightly at his beard. “Want to come back! And see Baba again!”

She feels her chest warm slightly at his words as his grandpa laugh and tugs his hand away from his face. “You’ll see Mila again anyway, Yurochka. She’s going to be in your ice skating class.”

He’s _what?_

“Yay! Will see Baba again!”

“He’s gonna skate too?” Mila cuts off, stepping closer to them. “I don’t have to babysit him again, right?”

Her mother laughs. “No, Mila. He’ll just be your classmate and friend. Won’t he?”

She pouts. As long as she doesn’t have to take care of him again… “Fine.”

“Yay! Baba!”

“Stop calling me that!”

His grandpa and her mother laughs again. “Well, we should probably be off,” his grandpa says. “It’s nearing dinner time. Come on, Yurochka.”

As he turns to walk away, Yuri peaks over his shoulder to look at her. “Bye-bye, Mila!” he says, before his grandpa shuts their front door behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

She still clearly remembers the day Yuri’s cheerful personality shatters into bitterness and anger.

She remembers seeing Yuri being called out of the ice by Yakov, remembers the cheerful smile he sends her before skating away and letting himself be dragged by Yakov out to a corner of the rink.

She remembers skating a little closer to the pair to hear a bit of their conversation. Hears the words ‘father’ and ‘left’ and feels her blood chill.

She remembers Yuri’s face contort from happiness to shock, and then anger. He shouts something she couldn’t comprehend and before she knows it, he’s running to the men’s locker room.

She doesn’t remember heading towards the locker room herself. All she remembers is seeing Yuri huddled up in the corner, tears pouring out of his eyes.

“Yuri-”

“Baba,” he whimpers, and then she’s crossed the locker room in five seconds and hugging his trembling body, letting him wrap his arms around her and sobbing into her neck.

He’s too young, she thinks. He’s only seven years old and he’s lost his father just like she has. Then again, she was too young when her father left her and her mother. The only difference was she didn’t have anyone to be there for her.

But she can be there for Yuri. So she spends the next half hour kneeling in front of him as he cries his heart out on her favorite shirt, and she can’t bring herself to mind when the determined, passionate kid is crumbling before her.

“Papa left us too,” she says quietly when Yuri’s loud cries have dissolved into sniffles and whimpers. “I’m sorry, Yuri.”

“How did you get over it?” Yuri asks, voice trembling and his eyes still hidden on her shoulder. He doesn’t want her to see.

She sighs, running her fingers over Yuri’s hair. “I haven’t.”

She feels more tears dripping on her shoulder, and she stifles a whimper of her own, clutching him a little tighter than before.

Yakov doesn’t come to get them until practice time is over. He sighs when he enters the locker room and sees the two children huddled against each other. He kneels in front of them, laying a gentle hand on Yuri’s head. “Yurochka, your grandfather’s here. Albina’s here too, Mila.”

Yuri finally detaches herself from Mila and faces Yakov, but he isn’t looking at him eye to eye. “No,” he says quietly. “I want to stay with Mila.”

“He can sleep over,” Mila adds before Yakov can reply. “He doesn’t wanna be at home right now, Yakov. I know.”

He sighs, before taking both of their hands and pulling them up as he stands. “I’m not the one you should be asking permission from.”

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take much to get Yuri’s grandpa and her mother to agree.

“Of course Yuri can stay with us. For as long as he needs.” The smile she gives Yuri is sad, pitying.

“You have to call me every day, Yurochka,” his grandpa tells Yuri, kneeling in front of him. Yuri can’t look at him eye to eye either. “You can come home whenever you want, okay?”

“Yes, dedushka,” Yuri says quietly. “But I-I don’t know when I want to go back.”

“That’s fine,” his grandpa says, pulling him into a hug. “Just remember that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Later, they are huddled together in a pile of pillow and blankets in the living room, watching old programs from the Seniors Division (“Viktor Nikiforov isn’t even _that_ cool,” Yuri says bitterly) and eating the sweets her mother told them not to touch so late in the night. Whenever Yuri thinks she isn’t looking, he sniffles and rubs furiously at his eyes, and she pretends not to notice.

“Baba?” he whispers, when it’s past midnight and the TV is off, facing away from each other as they try to fall asleep.

“Yes?” Normally the nickname would annoy her to no end, but she’ll let it slide this one time.

“Thanks.” It’s barely a mumble, and if she wasn’t paying as much attention she wouldn’t have heard it.

Still, she smiles, before turning to face his back and giving him a hug. “You’re welcome, Yuri.”

 

* * *

 

 

What did she do wrong?

Is it because she devotes too much of her time with training? Is it because she’s homeschooled and thus, doesn’t go to the same school as him, so they spend even less time apart? Is she not pretty enough? Or funny or nice or whatever else he wanted her to be?

No matter how many times she wants to ask him, he probably wouldn’t answer her. He’s done with her, he said. Said he’s sick of the fact that she prioritizes her skating over everything, over him. Said that she isn’t worth it. She’s fourteen years old and she’s already gotten her first heartbreak.

Still, she’d be damned if she let his words get to her training. She’s a professional figure skater, for fuck’s sake, and she’s not going to satisfy him by letting him be an obstacle towards her goal.

Except it isn’t that easy.

“Take five minutes,” Yakov says gruffly, when Mila falls on the ice after another failed jump. “Pull yourself together, Milochka. You’re better than this.”

Tears prick at her eyes – whether from the pain of the impact or from sheer emotion, she doesn’t know – and nods at Yakov before standing up and skating out of the rink. Yakov doesn’t stop her when she chooses to go to the women’s locker room rather than stay near the rink, like she usually does.

She takes a shaky breath as she sits on the bench.

If she emptied herself of emotions, she’d go back to practice in top form. Five minutes should be enough to cry everything out.

She’s on minute two when Yuri bursts into the locker room, looking angry. The anger in his face lasts for one second before he sees Mila’s tears, and his eyes instantly soften. He crosses the room in long strides and suddenly he’s in front of her, and she’s hugging at his small frame like a lifeline as she cries.

“I don’t know what to do when you’re this much of a mess,” Yuri confesses, a hand awkwardly raising up to pat her hair. “Usually I’m the crying one, not you.”

She lets out a watery laugh as Yuri moves to sit beside her, and she lays her head on his shoulder, the tears steadily flowing out. It’s a little awkward, since Yuri is still shorter than she is when they’re sitting, but she doesn’t mind as long as he’s here.

When she finally lifts her head up from his shoulder, she’s sure they’ve been there for more than five minutes, but Yakov never comes back to check on them.

“I’ll kill him,” Yuri vows, his face morphing back to anger when he sees Mila’s tear stains.

She giggles again. “As if he’d be intimidated by an eleven-year-old with a bowl cut.”

“You’re the one who made me get it, Baba,” Yuri retorts with a pout, and she laughs harder. But suddenly his eyes widen, and she can practically see the lightbulb alight in this brain. “Wait. You know his address, right?”

“Yes…?”

“Can you give it to me?”

She frowns. “Yuri, you don’t have to-”

“I’m going to,” he interrupts her. “You’re too strong to cry, and your face scrunches up all ugly when you do it. He deserves it.”

“Oh, my hero,” she says with a roll of her eyes, and laughs when he punches her on the arm. “Okay, okay. Just don’t do anything drastic.”

“I won’t,” he promises with an angelic smile that she doesn’t believe in the slightest. The smile only widens when she types the address on her phone and sends it to him, and she can’t help but think that whatever Yuri’s planning, she hopes it’s good.

Yakov never gets them. They stay in the locker room until the sun sets, Yuri letting Mila rant about the demon incarnate that is her now ex-boyfriend. When it’s finally time to go home, Yuri moves to leave the locker room but stops just as he reaches the doorknob. “Mila? You’re okay, right?”

“I will be when you make him suffer,” she replies, but backtracks when she sees the near devilish smile that forms on Yuri’s face. “But not too much! No killing! I don’t want to have to bail you out!”

“No promises,” he shrugs, and he’s out the door before she can protest again.

She later hears that her ex-boyfriend’s laptop got stolen, along with his gaming consoles and all the games that comes with it.

When she goes to Yuri’s house for a sleepover and he pulls out a familiar laptop from underneath his pillow, she grins. It only widens when she notices the stack of video games and the DS on his bedside table.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m so proud of you,” she mutters against his neck as she hugs him, and she feels tears pricking at her eyes because she really is _so, so_ proud of Yuri. “I can’t believe it. Your senior debut and you already broke a record. _Viktor’s_ record, at that. I can’t believe you.”

He freezes for a good second before he raises her arms to hug her back. “Thanks,” is all he says, and he sounds breathy, fragile. “You helped, you know.”

“Huh?” she pulls away from him then, but keeps her hands on his shoulders. “What do you mean?”

“Ugh, great, you really have to make me say it, don’t you?” he complains, and she laughs at him when his face turns pink. “It’s just – my performance was all about _agape._ ‘a universal, unconditional love that transcends, regardless of circumstances.’”

“And?”

“And…” he flushes deeper, and he glares at Mila half-heartedly. “Ugh, you’re making this _so_ difficult… when I think of agape, I think of grandpa. And I think of other people too, but I also think of you.”

She blinks. Stares at Yuri’s flushed face. “Me?”

“I mean.” he pouts and looks away from her. “I know I don’t say it enough. That you’re practically family to me. That I’d always have your back and I know you have mine. That I see you as a sister I wish I had.” And it finally dawns on her, what Yuri’s trying to say to her. “I figure you already know, you’ve known for ages, but I know that sometimes it’s better to hear it-”

“I love you too, Yuri,” she says with a laugh, and he sputters.

“No fair, hag! You made me spew out all that mushy shit and you didn’t even let me get to the end!”

“You could say it now,” she says teasingly, and he wrestles out of her grip, pout deepening.

“You ruined my momentum.” He glares at her. “And as if I’d ever give you the satisfaction of hearing it now.”

“That’s fine,” she sing-songs, “I’m pretty satisfied with the knowledge that my little Yura loves me, even if he doesn’t wanna say it.”

“You’re horrible.”

“You love me!”

He breaks his glare then, staring at the floor instead. “…Yeah,” he says, and she feels her heart overflowing with love and pride for this boy she’s known almost her whole life, and she starts to understand what he meant when he said what he feels is agape.

She pulls him into another hug and hopes that the love flowing through her reaches him.

 

* * *

 

 

“How do you tell someone you love them?” are the first words that Yuri utters when she picks up the call.

“You finally going to confess your undying love for me? Yurka, I’m flattered, but I have a girlfriend-”

“No, Baba, in your dreams,” Yuri says, but there’s no malice in his tone. There never is. “It’s… y’know. Beka.”

She can’t help the ‘awww!’ that escapes her lips, and she can almost see Yuri’s face scrunch up in distaste. “That’s _so_ cute! God, I can still remember when you called me at deadass 3 AM in the morning just because you figured out how gone you were for that boy. You grow up so fast!”

“Ugh, calling you was a mistake, why do I never learn?”

“Now, now, tell old auntie Mila how you figured it out. I want every single detail, don’t leave anything out!”

And he does for nearly an hour, ranting about how Otabek showed up in his doorstep out of the blue with a suitcase behind him, announcing that he’ll be staying in St. Petersburg for the next two weeks before the off season ends. About how he gave Yuri a little tiger shaped locket to make up for missing his birthday, and how, if you open it, you’d see a picture of the two of them on their first date. He talks and gushes and she thinks about how lucky Otabek is, and how he won’t be able to escape her clutches if he ever hurts Yuri.

“It doesn’t have to be anything big, Yurka,” she says, nearly two hours into the call. “Just drop the bomb, no big deal. Do it while you’re both eating dinner in your pajamas, or when you’re both half asleep. You don’t have to make it a huge occasion, since turning it into one is only going to give you unnecessary stress.”

“Is that how you told Sara?”

“Yep! We were grocery shopping and her face was particularly pretty that night and I just knew, so I told her.”

“How did she react?”

“Oh, she was a mess,” she laughed. The image of Sara dropping the cereal she was holding as she stared at Mila with wide eyes and beet red cheeks was something she’ll never forget. “But she said she loves me too, and that was that. We’ve been saying it daily ever since.”

“It’s easy when you say it,” Yuri complains, and she hears a _fwomp_ sound from the receiver and assumed Yuri flopped his head on his pillow in exasperation.

“That’s because it _is._ It’s not a big deal if you don’t make it into one.”

“What if…” he starts, and she stops because his voice is suddenly small, fragile. “What if he doesn’t love me back?”

“Oh, Yurka…” so that’s what this is about…

“What if I say it and he realizes I’m not actually the one for him and he breaks up with me? What if he says it back just for the sake of it but doesn’t really mean it?” he lets out a frustrated sigh. “It was easy for you. Everyone with two eyes can see that Sara’s head over heels for you. I can read Beka pretty well but – it might not be enough.”

“Yurka…”

“I’m scared, Milka,” Yuri utters, and as he takes in another breath she realizes that it’s shaky. “God, I don’t want to lose him. I know I’ve only known him for four years, but he means everything to me, I – I don’t know what I’d do if-”

“Okay, okay,” she says, her voice soft, and it effectively quiets Yuri down. “We’ll figure this out, okay? It’s only 11 PM, do you want me to come over? Or is Otabek still awake?”

“I – no, he’s already asleep,” Yuri says, sounding relieved. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Bring ice cream? And your nail kit?”

“I’ll be there in a few,” she promises, and she hears Yuri sigh in relief.

“Get here safe. I don’t want to have to pull your dead body out the sewers when your murderer throws it in there.”

She laughs. Yuri expresses his worry in the strangest of ways. “Yurka, it’s a five-minute walk. And you know I’d sooner drop-kick an attacker to the ground before they even touch me.”

“I know, I know.” She can practically hear his pout from the receiver. “But still. Be careful.”

She smiles. “I will. See you in a bit.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Show me already!” She exclaims once they’ve sat down. She lightly hits the café table with her palms, growing impatient by the minute.

“At least order first, hag,” he snorts, opening up the tiny menu. She pouts when she realizes he’s purposely pulled his sweater sleeve down so that most of his hand is covered. “I already said I’m paying, I’m surprised you aren’t looking for the most expensive thing on the menu yet.”

“I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” she waves a hand dismissively, and grins when Yuri calls a waiter over and orders two double chocolate cakes and two coffees. “Now show me already!”

“Alright, alright, jeez,” he rolls his eyes, but pulls the sleeve of his right hand up and shows her the ring. Mila immediately takes his hand in her own, looking closely at the piece of jewelry.

“Only Otabek would be extra enough to find a gem that matches your eyes so perfectly,” she breathes out a laugh. The ring is gorgeous; the gem a perfect blend of blue green that is, indeed, the same color as Yuri’s eyes. The silver band is intricately designed, somewhat resembling Yuri’s braids.

Yuri’s eyes are fond as he looks at the ring. “He was so nervous, you should’ve seen his face. He was sweating so much in the middle of fucking winter, and he stuttered the entire time he was popping the question. Almost burst into tears when it was my turn to kneel and ask him to marry me. Still wondering why everyone thinks he’s all cool and stoic, he’s nothing but a giant loser.”

“He is cool and stoic, just not around you,” she laughs as she lets go of his hand.  “It’s about time, though! I still remember when you were a wee little seventeen-year-old panicking over your first date with him. Good, hilarious times.”

“You’re dumb,” he insults half-heartedly, turning red at her words.

“And you love me,” she says fondly, patting him on the cheek and laughing when Yuri protests. “I’m so excited for you, though. Have you thought of a date yet?”

He shrugs. “No, not really. We’re thinking next year, late April so that it’s off-season. Viktor, the fucking idiot, wants it to be during the cherry blossom season in Japan. As if we’d even _want_ our wedding to be in Japan, what the fuck.”

“It’s as if he wants to re-marry Yuuri and is using you to fulfill his dreams,” Mila laughs. “You better let me help out in the wedding, though! I’ve always wanted to be a wedding planner. I’m already thinking a green and gold theme, with a bit of tigers and bear on the side? We could have the reception at night-”

“About that,” Yuri interrupts, and when she focuses her eyes on him, he actually looks quite nervous. “There’s something I want to ask you. Don’t freak out or cause a scene or I’m leaving you to pay for this meal yourself.”

“You wound me with your words, Yura,” she says with a roll of her eyes, but sits up. “I won’t freak out, though. You can tell me anything, as always.”

“Yeah, I know.” He takes a deep breath, and he’s not meeting her eyes when he asks, “I… wanted to know if you want to be my best woman. Or something. For the wedding.”

“… What?”

“If you don’t want to, just say so,” he grumbles, nodding his thanks at the waiter when their food arrives. She doesn’t touch it, just stares at Yuri, while he starts stabbing the end of the cake, turning it into crumbs.

“I- I thought you would ask Viktor, or Yuuri,” she says, and it’s embarrassing to find that her eyes are welling up with tears. He snorts, but when he looks up at her, the gaze holds nothing but fondness.

“They’re important to me too, I won’t lie. But you’ve been my best friend for almost my entire life. You’ve been there for me more times than I can count, and even during the time I acted like a total fucking brat-”

“You still do, kind of.”

“Don’t interrupt my cheesy fucking speech to drag me,” he counters seamlessly, and she laughs wetly as he continues, “Even then, and every time after that, you came through for me. You’re my best friend, my sister in everything but blood, and I wouldn’t want anyone else standing beside me during the wedding.”

“You’re a fucking sap,” she says, rubbing at her eyes and laughing. “You’re spending too much time with Viktor.”

“Ugh, I know,” he says, but his eyes are glassy with tears too, and his smile is genuine. “So, are you in or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” she says with another peal of laughter and Yuri’s smile grows. “And it all works, cause one of the duties of the best woman is to plan the wedding with the groom and I’m still very willing to plan every single thing, down to the kind of tablecloth we’ll be using at the reception.”

“No doilies or I’m banning you from the reception.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you didn’t want a good wedding. My bad.”

 

* * *

 

 

They get married in Almaty, at Yuri’s insistence, so that Otabek can feel closer to his family and country. She’s very pleased to see that Yuri took in most of her recommendations, keeping the gold and green theme that she suggested and the tiger and bear decorations.

And maybe, maybe she does shed a tear beside Yuri when he and Otabek say their vows to each other. Sara, already crying, holds onto Mila’s hand tightly in support. Beside them, Viktor is loudly bawling while Yuuri pats him on the back, glassy eyed himself.

The reception is more fun, and certainly louder. Everyone seems hell bent on getting drunk as fuck tonight. She decides not to drink, instead taking pictures and videos of her friends and saving them as blackmail material, should she so need it.

“Baba!” A voice suddenly exclaims, and Yuri is hugging her from behind, draping over her shoulders like she’s a hanger and he is a very drunk, very heavy piece of clothing.

“Yurka,” she says fondly, turning around and catching him in her arms. He laughs and holds onto her. “You’re drunk.”

“Damn right I am,” he says, still giggling. “Isn’t this fun? Are you having fun?”

“I am,” she says sweetly, shifting so that she can support his limp body on her shoulders. “Come on, let’s go look for your husband.”

“Beka!” he exclaims and hugs her tighter, making it that much harder to get both of them to move. “Where’s Beka? Is he here?”

“It’s your wedding, Yurka, you tell me.”

“He is!” he laughs. “I love him, Milka.”

“I know,” she smiles. “He loves you, too.”

She spots Otabek on the other side of the room, and thankfully he looks over to her before she gets the chance to call out. She points over at Yuri in a silent plea to take him off her shoulders before they both collapse, and she sees Otabek laugh before excusing himself from the guests he was talking to and starting to make his way through the room to them.

“I love you too, though,” Yuri says happily, nuzzling into her shoulder. “You’re kinda like… my soulmate. But in a best friend way. A platonic soulmate. Does that make sense?”

A platonic soulmate. That perfectly describes his relationship with Yuri. “That makes perfect sense, Yurka. I love you, too.”

Yuri cheers. “I’ll be your best man at your wedding too, right? You promise me?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want anybody else.” Oh, god. Marriage. To Sara. She’s been putting off showing the gorgeous amethyst ring she bought for her girlfriend for a while now, not wanting to overshadow Yuri and Otabek’s wedding with her own, but now that it’s all said and done…

“Sorry, Mila,” a voice cuts through her thoughts, and suddenly the weight on her shoulders is literally lifted as Yuri throws himself into Otabek’s arms, Otabek barely catching him. “I guess he had too much to drink.”

“I’ll say,” she laughs as Yuri nuzzles into Otabek’s neck. “Congratulations, Otabek. You don’t know how happy you’ve made Yura these past years.”

“He doesn’t know how happy he’s made me,” Otabek says, smiling fondly at Yuri, and Mila’s heart swells. “I’ve already thanked Nikolai, as well as Viktor and Katsuki, but I never got to thank you.”

“Hm? For what?”

“For deeming me worthy enough to have Yuri’s hand, and for accepting me.” This time, he aims his smile at her. “I don’t know if you know how much Yuri loves you, and I don’t know if he’d be okay with me telling you-”

“I already know,” she says, smiling back at him. “And when he gets sober, tell him I love him too.”

“I know!” Yuri suddenly exclaims, raising his head from Otabek’s shoulder to grin at her. She grins back.

“You should probably put the kitten to sleep, I’ll handle the rest from here,” she says, and Otabek thanks her again with a smile before half-carrying, half-dragging Yuri out of the room.

Well, that is her intention, of course. But before she officially ends the party, she has something she needs to do.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she goes to her chair and gets a velvet box from her purse. Spotting Sara is easy, her eyes already trained to look for dark long hair and gorgeous purple eyes.

She walks towards her and, with another breath, grabs her hand. Sara quickly turns around, but calms down once she sees who it is.

“Mila, _tesoro,_ is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s okay. But can we talk? In private?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Baba, it is ass o’clock and I have the worst fucking headache right now, what could you possibly want?”

“It’s 11 in the morning, loser, suck it up. And I called to let you know that you will be best man at my wedding.”

“Wait… then, that means you-”

“Yeah. Yurka, she said yes.”

“Heh. Well, of fucking course she did. You two are the most nauseating couple I’ve ever encountered since Katsudon and the old man.”

“Please, you and Otabek were the ones who got married.”

“Shut up. Anyway. Fuck yeah, I’ll be your best man. And you’re telling me everything later tonight when I _don’t have a fucking hangover._ ”

“Ah, such a grouchy cat as always. Fine, fine, I’ll leave you and your husband to your honeymoon sex.”

“We _do not have-”_

“Denial doesn’t suit you, Yurka! Anyway, dinner tonight, I’ll tell you everything. My treat.”

“It better fucking be. …Mila?”

“Yeah?”

“Congrats. You deserve this more than anyone else.”

“Thanks, Yuri. Love you.”

“Love you too."

 

* * *

 

“She’s gorgeous,” she breathes, staring at the baby photo. The baby can’t be more than a month old, but she can see the tufts of golden locks, and strong, dark brown eyes.

“Isn’t she?” Yuri says softly, taking the photo from her when she offers it. “She’s only a few weeks old, and her biological mother never gave her a name. She’s not really ours yet, we’re still processing the adoption papers, but we’re almost there. The nursery room’s looking pretty good, too.”

“And you just had to pick the one that’s as close of a carbon copy of you two as possible,” she laughs, stirring her coffee. “You two are adorable.”

“At least not gross like you and Sara,” he snorts.

“You’re the one getting a _baby_ ,” she points out, laughing. “Anyway, she doesn’t have a name, right? So that’s all your decision. What have you thought of?”

“Oh,” he says, and he’s suddenly avoiding her eyes. “Right. About that. There’s something I want to ask you.”

“I’m sensing a strong case of déjà vu,” she comments, remembering that these were Yuri’s exact words when he asked her to be his best woman. What could he possibly want to ask her now?

“Shut up,” he mumbles, pouting. “I just… wanted to know if it was okay if we named her after you.”

“… What?”

“If you don’t want us to, just say so,” he grumbles.

“No, no, it’s not that! Just… why?”

He looks at her, bewildered. “Why? Because you’re one of the most important people in my life? Because I really, genuinely don’t know where I’d be now if you weren’t in my life and I wanted to thank you for that?”

“By _naming your child after me?”_

“You really don’t know exactly how much you mean to me, do you,” he sighs, as if she doesn’t understand a math problem instead of the fact that he’s naming his first child after her. “Platonic soulmates, or whatever bullshit I spat out during the wedding, right?”

“Yuri…” fuck, she’s tearing up. God, Yuri will be the death of her.

“I mean, if you think it’s weird then I won’t do it,” he says, clearly embarrassed now. He isn’t raising his head to meet her eyes. “Y’know what, maybe I shouldn’t have asked-”

“No! No, I’m sorry I’m just… overwhelmed. And happy,” she admits, laughing. “You’re such a fucking sap, god. You really are becoming as lame as Viktor. I better be this kid’s godparent, too.”

“…That wouldn’t be a problem, if you want,” Yuri mumbles, and Mila laughs again.

“Were you already going to ask me?”

“Pfft, _no,_ I was thinking of asking Viktor or Yuuri to be her godparent but if you _insist-”_

“Oh, _thank you_ for considering me, Yura. I’ll gladly do it if you let me.”

He huffs, but under his breath he mutters out, “Thank you,” and her heart swells with love.

 

* * *

 

The baby Sara and Mila pick to adopt is barely a month old, but she already has tufts of black hair and ice blue eyes, and she’s absolutely perfect for them.

“She doesn’t have a name yet,” Sara says, looking over the birth certificate. “We’ll get to decide, then! God, I haven’t looked at any names yet-”

“Actually, _amore,”_ Mila interrupts, and she smiles at Sara when she turns to look at her, curious. “I think I already have a good name in mind. Hear me out?”

“Of course, what is it?”

“How does ‘Yulia’ sound?”

Sara smiles, looking down at the baby before nodding. “Yeah, I think it’s perfect.”


End file.
